POE HISTORICAL PARODY - MARY ELEANOR

MARY ELEANOR
A 30YW parody of "The Raven" by E.A. Poe
By Sandra Dermark

(OK, this is another bunny I have been developed for this summer. Christina of Sweden is the narrator, and this is their reunion between the Peace of Westphalia and her abdication)

Once upon a midnight dreary, there she sat so weak and weary,
looking at that golden casket then like every mournful night before,
while I lay down, tossing, turning, for bright light and freedom yearning,
for exciting, clever learning, learning things not known before...
Learning feats of past commanders I'd never heard of before...
Only learn a few things more...

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak November,
and her face glowed like an ember. Tears she shed upon the floor.
She would weep from dusk to morrow: vainly she had sought to borrow
solace and surcease for sorrow for one slain in the great war...
Thus mourned Mary Eleanor...
For the hero slain at Lützen thus wept Mary Eleanor...
For one still for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of the drawn bed-curtain
thrilled me - filled me with excitement I had never felt before.
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I was repeating:
"There is sure someone intreating entrance at the chamber-door...
Surely some maid intreating entrance at this chamber's door...
This it is, and nothing more."

Presently, my soul grew stronger: hesitating then no longer,
I parted the dark bed-curtains and took a peek at the door.
But the maid was there a second, then two, then three, as I reckoned,
there was the sight that still beckoned and revolted me, like before.
That I felt both drawn to that sight and shied away from it more:
still waked Mary Eleanor.

Through the curtains still I was peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing,
doubting dreams of which I never, ever dared to dream before:
Now the silence was unbroken, and the light gave a faint token, 
though no whisper was now spoken by a weary Eleanor...
There, clutching her golden casket, she lay on the velvet floor...
lying prostrate on the floor...

Back into my bed-sheets turning, all my soul within me burning,
I wondered at her strange yearning, now more painful than before.
"Surely", said I, "she's still waking, her bleeding heart e'en more breaking,
mourning Lützen's undertaking, thinking of the joys of yore,
that won't return anymore.
Now his heart is still forever, yet she remembers him more:
on his death-day even more."

There she lay, her casket clutching, and the heart within it touching,
feeling there was still so much in there. Her black silks still she wore.
Though she lay there, still was waking, shattering, tearing, and breaking
the ties that were once forsaken, once upon a foreign shore...
Reaching out, she felt, towards her, standing on the Stygian shore!
Thus, I whispered: "Nevermore."

Nothing more then I had uttered, as the curtains outside fluttered,
though now I will sit and mutter: "Other friends have flown before.
On the morrow comes the new day, though my hopes have flown before."
Then, I just said: "Nevermore."

Thus I stand, steeled and unbroken, since those words I'd rightly spoken.
Doubtless, I have found less pleasure in love than I find in lore.
Never some unhappy master will unmerciful disaster
bring upon me fast and faster, till my songs are one, no more:
Till the dirges of my hope one melancholy burden sure
turn to: Never, nevermore!

Thousand pleasures, still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
cannot retract me from striding and opening that locked door.
Now, upon soft velvet sinking, I betake myself to linking
all those recollections, thinking, all that death-in-life of yore:
of all that grim, ungainly, and ominous death-in-life of yore,
'neath my oath of "Nevermore."

This I thought, engaged in dressing, but no syllables expressing,
as I was myself undressing, plunged into my bosom's core:
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining,
with my steel-coloured eyes shining like they'd never shone before,
full of twinkles and of sparkles that conceal the unrest o'er:
"She'll find rest... ah... nevermore!"

Then, methought, I hear her calling, a veil from my thoughts is falling,
and I hear her soft steps falling with sweet tinkles on the floor.
There she is, before me standing, no longer silence commanding,
respite... respite there demanding, lively like never before!
"Quaff, oh, quaff life in your standing, and forget it, Eleanor!"
Thus she says, at last, quite sure.

"Prussia was once a bright Eden, and, broken, I shunned dire Sweden,
since the loss of his life and yours were tossed hither by reckless war!
Here I stand now, healed, undaunted, on this pristine land enchanted,
At this home by sorrow haunted... For forgiveness I implore!
Is there... is there mercy in you? Tell me, tell me, I implore!"
She embraces me once more.

Thus, I offer her my pardon, respite, solace, warmth and guerdon,
for soon I'll be sadly leaving this land and those I adore.
Soothe a soul with sorrow laden, a mother healed by a maiden,
at last clasping the crowned maiden who was lost to Eleanor!
Clasping the lost, precious maiden, her child, won by Eleanor!
Though she'll leave for evermore...

Warm will be our sign of parting, when my own path I'll be starting!
You will embrace your Gustavus soon upon the Stygian shore!
Leave me and I'll leave you a token of all that our souls have spoken!
Then, my loneliness unbroken will start at this open door!
I'll stride forth, then take a stand through this by peace now opened door!
I will return nevermore!

Stay in this keep by the water, and, though you'll soon lose a daughter,
you'll win for your feelings quarter, and Charles for ward at your door.
And your eyes now have the seeming of those that once more are dreaming,
and the fire-light o'er you streaming casts your shadow on the floor...
And your soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
shall be lifted -- for e'ermore.